‘Yeah, well, that’s another reason why I’m interested. Metropolitan would want all publishing rights to their songs.’
‘Hold on a minute, Brad. If you’re saying you want to offer my boys some kind of a deal, why don’t we get together next week sometime? Thrash things out over lunch?’
‘Okay. Name the day.’
‘Would Wednesday suit?’
‘Fine by me. Drop by the office at one. I’ll book a table somewhere close by.’
‘Great. See you then.’
‘Sure. Cheers, Freddy.’ Brad put the telephone down as Helen appeared in the doorway. He beckoned her in.
‘I’ve called a solicitor and made an appointment for next Tuesday,’ she said. ‘I gave him an idea of what we had in mind and he’s going to have some sort of basic contract drawn up that we can fiddle around with.’
‘Good.’ Brad tapped his biro on the top of the desk.
‘The sooner we sort out the legal details, the sooner we can start paying those outstanding bills.’ Helen looked down at the mess on Brad’s desk. ‘And start implementing some organisationaround here.’ She picked up a black-and-white photograph lying on the top of a precarious pile. ‘Who is this?’
‘The group I want to sign. They’re called The Fishermen. What do you think of them?’
Helen studied the photograph. ‘They look fine.’ She was just about to put the photo down when, from under one of the gleaming pageboy haircuts, a familiar face caught her eye. Glancing at the bottom of the photo, she read, ‘Todd, Con, Ian and Derek are The Fishermen.’
Brad watched her as she swayed slightly.
‘You okay, Helen?’
‘I’m fine, just fine.’ She placed the photo back on the desk. ‘Have...have you called their manager yet?’
‘Yes. We’re meeting next Wednesday. As long as you’re happy with the figures I’m working on, then I’ll put the offer to him over lunch.’
Helen had regained her composure. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something. As we know, you’re the one with the nose for talent. I’ll see you later.’ She offered him a strange little smile and left the room.
The following Wednesday, Helen waited in an agony of tension for Brad to return from his lunch with Freddy Martin, The Fishermen’s manager. She hardly dared look too eager, after all she’d said about keeping costs low for the time being, but, truth be known, if The Fishermen had wanted four times what she and Brad had agreed to offer them, Helen would have capitulated.
And all for the look on Con Daly’s face when Brad introduced her as a director of Metropolitan Records...He had held all the power in their former lives. She would have done anything for him. But now, the tables had turned. Her value was not determined by the gaze of Con Daly. That pleased her, perhaps more than she had anticipated.
To stop herself from thinking on what Brad and Freddy were talking about, Helen picked up the telephone and dialled Tony’s number. She’d been unable to get hold of him for the past few days and he still didn’t know her news.
‘Hello?’
‘Tony, it’s me, Helen.’
‘Helen, hello.’ He sounded harassed.
‘How are you?’
‘Okay, okay. You?’
‘Very well. I have news, Tony. You are speaking to the almost-fifty-per-cent-partner of Metropolitan Records.’
‘What?’
Helen quickly ran through the events of the past week.
‘Wow, Helen, that’s amazing! Congratulations.’
‘Thank you. It’s not going to be a signed-and-sealed deal until next week, though, but I don’t think anything will go wrong.’
